


Supersaturation

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Tentacle (Good Omens), Deep Throating, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Monsterfucking, Oral Sex, Slime, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Crowley goes through Aziraphale's personal book collection and bites off a little more than he can chew.Aziraphale's certainly not complaining.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 90
Collections: MoFu Bingo 2021





	Supersaturation

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Monsterfucker Bingo event! The prompt is "slime/goo."
> 
> Also, this is by far the filthiest thing I've ever put up here, so be kind to me lol

“Crowley?” Aziraphale wrapped the back of his knuckles on the door again, brow wrinkling. “Crowley, I know you’re there!” He could sense Crowley’s presence within, a quiet background hum he’d gotten quite used to over the millennia. 

Once upon a time such a cool reception to him visiting Crowley in his flat might not have been so unusual; they were hereditary enemies, after all, even if it had been more a pretence than anything. Since the end of the world had failed to happen, however, Aziraphale had been enjoying the freedom to call on his friend-turned-lover whenever the whim took him. Every time he’d done so the door had opened for him promptly, either Crowley’s magic or Crowley himself waiting to welcome him inside.

Every time except this one, that was. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried again, “I brought you an orchid. One of those terribly fussy black ones you love so much. Won’t you let me in?” He held the plant up before him, presenting its delicate blooms to the door as if for inspection.

Still, the door stayed resolutely shut.

Aziraphale chewed on his lip, weighing his options. On the one hand, it was quite likely that Crowley was either 1) asleep or 2) desiring of a bit of privacy. Aziraphale was more than happy to give him time if that’s what he desired, though of course a bit of forewarning might have been nice. On the other hand, though, if something had happened and Crowley needed his help, Aziraphale would move Heaven and Earth (quite literally) to make sure he received it.

Aziraphale looked to one end of the hallway and back, making sure he was alone. Then, he closed his eyes and reached out with his angelic senses, sending a little tendril of his Grace through the aether. It first brushed up against the residual demonic magic of the door, which offered some resistance to his persistent probing but let him pass after only a moment. He stretched himself further out, reaching and curling, searching for anything that might give him some clue as to what was going on within. 

Finally, his essence made brief contact with Crowley’s. It dipped away from him after the briefest of moments. Aziraphale frowned and pressed a little harder, querying. _Are you all right?_

This was met with an almost immediate feedback of emotion. _I’m fine, angel_ , curled back to him like smoke signals, insistent, but the words were betrayed by an almost staggering burst of _misery_ and _panic_ that accompanied them.

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold.

A concentrated burst of energy blew the door nearly off its hinges, almost without conscious thought on Aziraphale’s part. He spared a quick miracle and a hurried apology to put it to rights as he bustled into the flat, darting his eyes into every nook and cranny. Crowley wasn’t in the main room, or the plant room, so Aziraphale pressed on, his alarm growing with every passing moment. 

Finally, his eyes caught a dim gleam of light spilling out from the door to Crowley’s bedroom. “Crowley?” he called out, voice warbling slightly.

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley’s voice answered through the door, carrying every bit as much misery as his spirit had. It sounded less alarmed and more resigned now, which at least served to put Aziraphale partly at ease, but still he edged himself forward until he could press the door to Crowley’s room open.

The room looked like some great creature had come rampaging through it only moments before. Crowley’s sheets, normally tucked neatly, had been flung every which way. Black down feathers were littered across the floor from where his pillows had been gouged, likely from Crowley’s own claws. Lamps had been smashed, bottles shattered.

And in the middle of it all Crowli sat, his back against the headboard on the bare mattress, his arms cradling his knees to his chest in a surprisingly child-like gesture.

“Crowley, what the Devil _happened_?” Aziraphale said, clicking his fingers to bring the chaotic room back to its usual state as he bustled over to Crowley’s curled-up form. 

“Don’t!” Crowley barked at him, before he could perch next to him on the bed. “Don’t come close.” 

Aziraphale stopped immediately, standing awkwardly just out of reach. “Of course I won’t if that’s what you want, dear, but...please, tell me what’s happened. Is it...” He hesitates, then points downwards with a meaningful look on his face.

“It’s not Hell, if that’s what you’re asking,” Crowley said, almost morosely. “It’s just me being a bloody great fool, that’s all. I can’t believe--” He cut himself off, biting his lip and turning his face away from Aziraphale with a pinched look. 

“Crowley...” Aziraphale reached a hand out to him, wanting to offer comfort or just to ascertain that he was actually alright, but remembered Crowley’s request and stopped himself. He cleared his throat. “It’s alright, Crowley. Whatever you’ve done, whatever’s _happened_ , you can tell me. We’ll deal with it, together.” He tried to impart his tone with all the sincerity he could muster, every ounce of love and conviction in his body.

Yellow eyes flashed to his own, then away again. Crowley’s jaw worked. Then, finally, “I was...trying something out. I found this book in your shop and I thought, well, _why not_ , you know?”

“Er--” Aziraphale answered, distinctly _not_ knowing, “I’m afraid not, my dear. What book was this?”

To his utter surprise, a pink flush of crimson lit up the rose of Crowley’s cheeks.

“It might have been one of your...er... _private_ collection.”

Aziraphale was growing more and more baffled by the moment. The whole _shop_ was his private collection. The fact that it existed as a business was a mere excuse to have somewhere so central in which to store it. What was Crowley...?

Suddenly, it clicked. His _private_ collection.

There was more than a slight blush creeping up his own cheeks, now. “Oh...er--goodness. You found that, did you? J-jolly good. I wasn’t hiding them from you, I hope you know, I just--” Finally, his brain caught up to his mouth, and he stopped talking mid-sentence. “Crowley. What have you done?”

Crowley’s cheeks could have started a small brush fire with the amount of heat coming off them. He still couldn’t quite look Aziraphale in the eyes as he said, “I tried to, er...mimic some of what I saw. I figured that, you know, you liked that stuff in books, maybe you’d want to try it out someday for real? Not _now,_ mind you,” he insisted, finally meeting Aziraphale’s eyes in apparent desperation to reassure him, “I wouldn’t ever want to pressure you. I just thought it might be nice to be ready if it ever...came up?”

“If _what_ ever came up, Crowley?” Aziraphale begged, though there was a slightly squirmy sensation in his stomach that told him he already knew.

Crowley just looked at him for a moment. His mouth opened as if he wanted to speak, then snapped shut again with a _click_. He looked down at the way he was still curled up, knees tucked up under his chin, and sighed heavily. “Might be easier to just show you.” Slowly, carefully, he relaxed his position, letting his legs stretch to their full length on the mattress.

Aziraphale couldn’t have stopped his gasp if he’d wanted to. Without being aware quite what he was doing he stepped forward again and let his weight fall to the mattress, feeling as though all the air had just been stolen from his lungs.

Between Crowley’s legs, where he usually sported whatever Effort he felt drawn to that day, was a large, slimy, _gorgeous_ tentacle. 

It was long, nearly the length of Aziraphale’s forearm, and wide, though it tapered away to almost nothingness at the tip. It _wriggled_ as he watched it, his mouth slack in shock and wonder. It seemed to have a mind of its own, moving gently over and around the flesh of Crowley’s legs in a restless sort of way. 

“I know,” Crowley said, miserably, breaking Aziraphale out of his captivated staring. “It’s _ridiculous_. And the worst part is, I can’t make it _go away_ ,” he nearly wailed, embarrassment and desperation evident in his voice.”

Aziraphale had to shake himself for a moment, remembering that he was here to comfort Crowley and not ogle shamelessly at his... _appendage_. “It’s alright, my dear,” he said, gently letting his hand fall to Crowley’s knee in a comforting gesture.

He’d intended to go on; intended to say something about how he’d do his best to help him, that they could contact Anathema if they couldn’t find anything in the bookshop. Before he was able to, though, the tentacle responded to him touching Crowley. In a flash it leapt towards him, the tapered tip of it wrapping tight around his wrist, almost _protective_ in its aggressiveness.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, surprised. “Er--terribly sorry Crowley, but would you mind--” he trailed off as he looked back up at Crowley’s face. 

Crowley’s yellow pupils had blown wide. His breathing was coming in harsh pants, and he was biting his lip in a way that Aziraphale had become _very_ well acquainted with over the past couple of months.

“I can’t--” Crowley’s voice was little more than a rasp. “I can’t control it. It just kind of...does what it likes.”

“Does it really?” Aziraphale said, part surprise and part badly hidden delight. He looked down at the tentacle again, which had wrapped itself around his wrist as much as was possible while still being attached to Crowley at the base. As he had guessed from seeing it across the room, it was covered in a sticky, almost gelatinous substance that was warm where it got between his skin and that of the tentacle but left clammy trails behind in its wake. It ought to have been disgusting; instead, he found himself rather idly wondering what it tasted like.

Curiously, he reached out his non-entangled hand. After a glance towards Crowley, who consented with a short nod, swallowing hard, he ran the back of a finger along the sticky side of the tentacle around his wrist.

It stilled in response, seeming to hesitate at the gentle touch, but didn’t remain still for long. The tip that had been restlessly roaming around his arm, never straying too far from where the rest was keeping his wrist away from Crowley’s skin, flipped around in mid-air. It moved sinuously back down to where Aziraphale’s finger was still delicately rested on its slick surface. There was none of the aggressive stance the tentacle had taken only a moment ago, perhaps because he had touched it directly and not Crowley. The tip poked lightly at his finger, just a nudge before pulling back, testing and curious. 

Feeling rather brave (and more than a little breathless), Aziraphale curled his finger ever so slowly until he could just bring the pad of it to touch the tip back, a gesture in kind to the one he’d been given. The tentacle seemed to take that as some sort of permission; immediately it wrapped itself around Aziraphale’s finger, over his palm and up to his other wrist, exploratory rather than restraining this time. 

“Curious little thing, isn’t it?” Aziraphale commented, almost cooing. The tentacle had unlooped itself from its first wrist as it turned instead to this new territory, already probing at the buttoned cuff of his shirt to try and find a way inside.

His only response was a low whine. Surprised, Aziraphale looked up. Crowley was gripping at the sheets beneath his hands, so tightly Aziraphale feared he might shred them as he had done with his now-repaired pillows. His breathing had gone from hitched to rapid, his chest rising and falling as his face twisted in something like pain.

Aziraphale blinked. He looked down at the tentacle, which had successfully found its way under Aziraphale’s cuff and seemed to be doing the best it could to explore as much of his skin as it could possibly reach, then back up at Crowley’s strained expression. He’d thought that Crowley had been enjoying this, that the touch had been pleasurable for him, but his confidence was wavering. “Is that a good look or bad, my love? I’m afraid I’m having a bit of a hard time telling just at the moment.”

“Good,” Crowley managed, though it sounded a bit punched out of him, “Feels good. _Really_ good. But it’s not--you don’t have to--” he cut himself off with a moan, probably because the tentacle had finally managed to wriggle its way back out of Aziraphale’s sleeve and discovered the wonders of his trouser buttons--the buttons that were quite a bit _closer_ to it than they might normally have been, all things considered. 

The matter was only made worse by the tentacle’s apparently endless and quite _vigorous_ determination to wiggle its way into his trousers the same way it had done his cuff. “Oh!” he said, embarrassed. “Er, terribly sorry, my dear. You weren’t wrong about me liking the things in those books.”

“Angel.” Crowley reached out and grabbed at his hand, still sticky with the tentacle’s slime, though he didn’t seem to notice. “Do you...” he swallowed, “Do you want to...”

“Do I want to make love to you like this?” Aziraphale hazarded when Crowley didn’t continue. From the particular tune of sputtering he was treated to in response, he gauged that he’d judged correctly. “I think I would, rather, if you’d like that.”

“You’re not put off by it?” Crowley looked worried now, a banked anxiety, though to be fair that was a not insignificant part of Crowley’s mood even when he hadn’t managed to get his cock stuck as a tentacle.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. Then, he brought Crowley’s hand to rest over the tent in his trousers, the one that the tentacle was still rather valiantly attempting to get to of its own volition. “Does that answer your question, love?”

Crowley whined again, and nodded. He reached out for Aziraphale, a familiar wordless request for a kiss, which Aziraphale responded to eagerly. He leaned over and drew Crowley into a deep kiss, careful not to pinch the tentacle as he bent towards him. 

The tentacle, for its part, seemed ecstatic at this change of events. Whether it was getting some residual sensation or emotion from what Crowley was feeling or was just happy to have more of Aziraphale within reach, it happily continued its expedition to explore as much of him as possible.

“These stains are going to be impossible to explain to my cleaner, you know,” Aziraphale said sometime later, when they stopped for breath. “I know to be a cleaner in London you have to be made of rather stern stuff, but still. Poor Sergei may never recover.”

Crowley, who seemed to have gained some calm and confidence back from their kissing (as Aziraphale had rather suspected he might), rolled his eyes. Lazily, he clicked his fingers together. 

Aziraphale found himself suddenly quite naked, and gasped quietly before levelling a glare at Crowley. “That was quite rude, you know.”

Crowley just smirked back at him. “Old habits. Your clothes are fine, by the way,” he said as Aziraphale opened his mouth again, “They’re in the wardrobe. Clean, pressed, and dried.”

“Oh.” That did mollify Aziraphale somewhat, though he kept up his pouting for a few moments just for the look of the thing. “Well then. Thank you, my dear.”

Then, he turned his eyes downwards.

The tentacle had seemed to grow somewhat bored with their kissing after a while. After slathering as much of him as it could with its slimy goo it had abandoned him as apparently something of a lost cause, preferring instead to curl around the curve of Crowley’s hip and rustle the fine copper hairs it found at the top of Crowley’s thigh. “Do you think I could...” he started, then cleared his throat in a little embarrassment. “That is, I think I’d rather like to...taste it, if you’d be amenable.”

“Ngk,” Crowley managed, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to clear it. “You can’t just _say_ stuff like that, angel. You’re killing me here.”

“I highly doubt that,” Aziraphale responded, purposefully haughty, though he couldn’t hide the cheeky smile that came with it. He scooted himself down the bed, rearranging himself to lie with his stomach on the soft sheets and his elbows braced between Crowley’s spread legs, eyeing the currently somewhat listless tentacle before him. The position reminded him that his own need was _quite_ interested in the proceedings and had been for some time, _thank you_ , and he indulged himself with a few sinuous thrusts against the silk beneath him that brought a moan to Crowley’s throat as well as his own before bringing himself back into focus. 

He reached out and brought a gentle finger down to the tentacle’s shining surface, just barely stroking it exactly as he had done before. It responded immediately, at first twitching and rearing in what might have been startlement but swiftly relaxing into the touch. He continued to stroke it gently for a few moments, unhurried. He brought two fingers into it, then three, experimenting with making a loose circle around the circumference to see how it responded. Judging from the vehemence of its wiggles and Crowley’s groans, it seemed as though it liked the _pressure_ of having something wrapped around it, but wasn’t particularly excited by the up-and-down motion that a regular cock might respond to.

Aziraphale smiled, more than a little mischievous. _Pressure_ he could do.

Once he had the tentacle (and, by extension, Crowley), wiggling in his grip, Aziraphale brought the squirming appendage towards himself. Curiously, he bent forward and gave the tentacle a little kitten lick, just under where the tip was flicking about in its excitement.

The taste was _ambrosia_. It was delicate and slightly sweet, mixed with the spice and slight musk that was Crowley’s natural scent. He laughed, delighted.

The tentacle, for its part, froze again at the unfamiliar touch.

Then, it _leaped_.

Aziraphale was ready for it this time, however. “Not so fast, darling,” he cooed at it before it could jump its way right down his throat, using his grip on it to keep it in place. “We’ll get there, I promise...”

He leant down again, letting the straining tip of the tentacle just brush over his lips as the rest of it thrashed madly around between Crowley’s legs. He brought it into his mouth an inch, two, letting it explore for a few moments before ever-so-gently closing his lips around it. It seemed entirely unperturbed and perhaps even _more_ excited at that so he let it sink further, the slenderest part of it tickling the roof of his mouth and that sticky-sweet taste bursting over his tongue.

Before he went on, he looked up again. Crowley looked like he was torn between watching Aziraphale and throwing his head back in ecstasy, something that Aziraphale thought was _extremely_ fetching on him, if he were t honest. His hands were digging gauges into the mattress again. Aziraphale did the closest thing to an admonishing tut that he could manage with a mouth full of squirming tentacle and reached out, guiding him to dig those hands into his own curls instead. 

Satisfied, Aziraphale continued. He ran his tongue around the tip, which made both tentacle and the demon it was attached to shudder gratifyingly, then tried hollowing his cheeks and applying a little pressure. That seemed to _really_ get its attention. Its struggles with the grip he still had on it intensified even more, the desperation to get further down his throat evident in every curving line of it.

And, well. How could Aziraphale say no to that?

He let a few more inches slither into his mouth, then more, opening this throat to the intrusion with only a minor miracle to ensure that nothing like a pesky gag reflex would cause any issues. The tentacle grew wider as it went on and he found himself having to pace himself just to ease the strain on his jaw, though he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to absolutely relishing the stretch of it.

Above him, Crowley was a babbling mess by the time he even took two-thirds of it in. It had been obvious that the tentacle was especially sensitive when Crowley had been so flustered by only a few touches, but it was especially evident now. He was _insensate_ with pleasure, his nails digging wonderfully into Aziraphale’s scalp as he writhed and moaned and spilled nonsense into the bedroom, punctuating the slick squelching noises coming from Azirpahale with snippets of words he seemed only half aware he was uttering. 

“Oh, G-- _Someone_ , angel, that’s-- _hhnnngggg_ \--never thought--never felt like this, I can’t--”

Aziraphale, for his part, was shamelessly rubbing himself against the slick silk sheets as he let the tentacle take his throat. He knew he couldn’t come like that, wouldn’t until he reached down to take himself in hand, but he wasn’t quite ready to yet anyway. He wanted to see what it looked like when the tentacle came--when _Crowley_ came--like this.

There wasn’t so much a _rhythm_ to this as a _pattern_. Aziraphale would take a few more inches, feel his lips and his throat stretch against the bulging, sticky-sweet flesh on his tongue. He would wait as the tentacle explored every new inch of him, deeper and deeper, far beyond any cock Crowley had worn before. He would listen for Crowley’s words to grow even more strained, even more _desperate_ , and only then he would sink even further.

He was, after all, something of a bastard.

Finally, _finally,_ there were only the last few inches before him. The tip of his nose was almost buried in the tight copper curls of Crowley’s mound, the sweat-slick scent a rich and decadent addition to the tentacle’s sweet slime.

Crowley had long ago lost the battle to keep his eyes fixed on Aziraphale. His head was thrown back, his mouth open and panting, all words lost to a constant stream of whines and moans that Aziraphale wasn’t honestly sure were still within the human range of hearing.

Aziraphale’s jaw was aching where it stretched. The feeling of the tentacle within him was both wonderful and highly strange; he wasn’t used to feeling movement so deep inside himself, was pretty sure he wasn’t even supposed to have _nerve endings_ down there, but being so stuffed full was absolutely _delicious_. Concentrating, wrinkling his brow, he pushed forward the last inch, swallowing compulsively around his prize as it filled him up so completely.

Crowley _wailed_ above him. He tugged at Aziraphale’s hair as his hips rose of their own accord, arching off the bed in a protracted climax that seemed to take over his whole body.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he choked slightly as the tentacle seemed to grow even wider within him for a fraction of a moment, then a renewed burst of that beautiful slime spilled out over his tongue and down his throat, coating his insides all the way down to his core.

Groaning, suddenly desperate, Aziraphale sucked at every bit of the stuff that tried to escape his mouth as he finally gave into his own desire, turning his hips so he could tug at his cock. It didn’t take much; with how long and how deeply he’d been worked up, it only took a few sharp strokes before he was shaking out his own release. 

Afterwards, he very carefully extracted the tentacle from his throat. He wouldn’t have called that a _pleasant_ exercise, though it wasn’t terribly _unpleasant_ , either. _Odd_ might have been the right word. It didn’t resist. It seemed about as worn out from the evening’s activities as its owner, who welcomed Aziraphale into the cradle of his arms with stars still in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, a little dreamily, “didn’t realize it was gonna do that.”

“No need to apologize, my dear,” Aziraphale assured him, so taken with his far-out expression he couldn’t help but press a kiss to the button of his nose. “I must say, I rather enjoyed myself.” Crowley grinned. “Yeah?”

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale snuggled deeper into Crowley’s arms. “I’d like to try more in the morning, if you’re amenable. I can think of a few other uses for such a handly little addition...”

Crowley’s adam’s apple bobbed against the top of his head, making Aziraphale smile. “Anything you want, angel,” he said. A click of his fingers and Aziraphale felt the sheets beneath him grow clean and fresh, and the lights dimmed briefly until they blinked out. 

“Anything you want.”


End file.
